The Advancement Of Learning
by Cloaked Eagle
Summary: Some twelve thousand years after the War of Wrath, a Vanyarin scholar is researching Finrod Felagund, and meets someone she did not expect.
1. Words of the King

Disclaimer: Parmiel is my own character. The events herein are my own, as are the books mentioned. Anything else is Tolkien's.

Words of the King

Parmiel sat down at a table in the Library of Tirion with a sigh, placing the book she had finally found in front of her. _A History of Nargothrond_, by the ancient scribe Quengoldo of Ondolindë, and according to her teacher back in Valimar, a very good account. _Of course_, the young Vanya thought, _he said that about _Caves Of The Narog_, and that didn't tell me anything I hadn't already learnt from their own library_. Sighing, the girl opened the book and began to read.

Some hours later, Parmiel awoke, to find her face flat against the third page of the book. Blinking, she sat up. _Manwë,_ she thought, _I didn't realise I was _that_ bored._ Trying to recall what the first few pages had said proved futile, so she flicked back to the title page and prepared to start again.

"Nargothrond?" said a voice behind her, causing her to spin around. There was a fair-haired elf behind her, but she sensed that he was not Vanyarin despite that. As she tried to work out why he was vaguely familiar, he leaned over and looked at the book. Catching sight of the title, he frowned. "_That_ book? Is that the best you could find?"

Parmiel blinked, and stammered, "It, I, my teacher recommended it. He, uh, said it was a good account."

The stranger shook his head. "Oh, it's a wonderful _account_, yes, but it's no more than that. Of course, if 'Nargothrond was founded in the year 100 of the First Age and destroyed in the year 495 and the next one hundred and forty-four pages list every event that occurred there in between' is your thing..." His voice tailed off, leaving Parmiel with the distinct impression that he'd think her utterly mad if she said it was.

Fortunately, it wasn't. "Oh, no. I'm interested in the king himself, Findaráto, or Finrod Felagund as they called him over there. I find him absolutely fascinating. Unfortunately," she sighed, "no one seems to know anything about him. It's like he was erased from the history books when he left with that Mortal, Balan, or whatever his name was."

"Beren," supplied the stranger, smiling slightly, and then added, "Now I come to think of it, it's quite possible that happened. There're certainly enough people out there with a grudge against him, and he _is_ rather unconventional. Popular opinion in Eldamar has always been 'Forget about him, and he can't annoy us with his crackpot theories'." He shook his head slightly. "They need to keep up with the times. It's been, what, ten, twelve thousand years since the War of Wrath?"

"Twelve thousand and ninety-two," put in Parmiel automatically, and then blushed at his approving nod. When he didn't say anything else, she said, "You speak of Findaráto as if you know him well."

"As well as any elf can, I think," replied the stranger. After a moment's pause, he added, "Finrod has always been a very enigmatic person. He tends to do things no one, not even himself, can understand – like building Nargothrond on the strength of a dream vision, say."

Parmiel blinked. "I thought he built it because he was jealous of Menegroth," she commented hesitantly. The stranger looked at her with a startled glance, and she wondered if she might have offended him somehow.

He did not, however, burst into a rage, or storm out of the building, but murmured to himself, "Is that how they're telling it now? Such a pity..." He then blinked, and looked back at Parmiel. "Finrod was sent a dream-vision by Ulmo, telling him to found a city in some caves on the river Narog. Considering the Valar had supposedly given up entirely on the Exiles by then, most people would have just assumed it was a particularly vivid dream, but Finrod went ahead and built it."

Parmiel nodded thoughtfully. "That certainly makes a lot more sense," she said. At his curious look, she tried to explain. "He doesn't appear in the histories much, except as an almost incidental character, but there's clues if you look a little deeper. The way his kingdom was the largest in the whole of Heceldamar, the way his sister, Artanis, seemed to split her time between Nargothrond and Doriath, and the way that Man, Ba- _Beren_," she corrected herself, "came to him for help rather than going to someone closer, like Findekáno, all seem to indicate that he had some influence, and wasn't the sort to be prone to jealousy."

The stranger laughed. "Stars! If only there were more people like you around." Seeing her worried look, he smiled reassuringly. "You're right, he did have a lot of influence. He was the only one of the Noldor Kings to be on good terms with _all_ the Free Peoples of Beleriand, including the Atani and the Casari."

Parmiel smiled at the confirmation of her private guess. "Is it true," she asked, "that Findaráto's realm was larger than all the other realms of the Noldor in Heceldamar put together? Because my teacher said it's all exaggeration..."

The other raised an eyebrow. "Well now, let me think... no, I'm afraid I don't think it was." At her crestfallen look, he reconsidered. "It was, however, larger than the realms of all of the Sons of Fëanor put together, and also larger than the combined land of Fingolfin and his sons. And if you support the theory that his brothers' holdings were technically part of his – which I personally do not, Angrod and Aegnor for certain were far too wilful – then it is possible that it was indeed true."

Parmiel nodded thoughtfully, and then stared down at the closed _History_, deep in thought. Sensing, perhaps, that she wasn't going to ask another question without invitation, the stranger said, "Was there anything else you wished to know?"

"Lots of things," replied Parmiel absently. "Everything." Then she blushed, and ducked her head.

"Everything?" The stranger raised an eyebrow. "That is certainly a lot of work, and it is growing late. I need my sleep, even if you can work through the night by taking naps in between." Her face turned red once more, and he laughed softly. "I do, however, have nothing to do for the next few weeks, so perhaps we could continue your lessons tomorrow morn."

"That would, that would be good," stammered Parmiel, stunned by his generosity. Then she plucked up her courage to ask one more question. "Sir... what happened to Findaráto – to Finrod?" At his incredulous look, she hastily added, "Not how he died, but what happened after. Because I heard he was released from the Halls of Mandos and rehoused and I was wondering where he is now."

The stranger smiled at her. "First off, no 'sir'. I haven't been a sir for twelve thousand years, and even back then they tended to say 'Your Highness' instead. As to your question, he spent a lot of that time wandering through Valinor, sometimes alone, sometimes with his friends. More recently he settled down in Tirion, and spends a lot of time in the library. For the past ten minutes or so, he has been talking about himself to a scholar from Valimar. And now," said Finrod Felagund, "I really do have to go. I will see you here when Anar reaches her zenith." And with that, he turned and walked briskly towards the main doors, leaving Parmiel to stare after him in shock.

* * *

The idea for this story came from a section of the notes from 'A Boy, A Girl And A Dog', a very good script version of the Lay of Leithian. The section in question is below:

_I can imagine Pengolod going over the traditions and writings of Rumil, and thinking to himself in some great library in Tirion, "It all seems so very orderly and rational...but then there are those strange ideas that Turgon's cousin has put forward, which also sound so compelling when you hear him. Of course he's quite mad, but..."_

_"—Yes, but I'm right, too" says Finrod genially, replacing a borrowed scroll. And the scribe shakes his head, and keeps writing..._

The Sindarin names used in this chapter should be well enough known, but here are the translations of the Quenya:

Quengoldo of Ondolindë – Pengolodh of Gondolin

Findaráto – Finrod

Heceldamar – Beleriand

Artanis - Galadriel

Findekáno – Fingon

Atani – Mortal Men

Casari – Dwarves

Anar – the Sun

Cloaked Eagle


	2. Children of the King

Disclaimer: Parmiel is my own character. The events herein are my own, as is the 'altered' history given in Valimar. Anything else is Tolkien's.

Children of the King

Parmiel walked back into the Library of Tirion to find Findaráto already there. She almost turned around right there, as she had so nearly done several times on her walk to the Library. _No_, she chided herself. _I am a scholar. My role is to learn. No one has ever asked Findaráto himself about his time in Heceldamar, not in recorded history. My teacher will be _so_ jealous._

"You're wasting your time, Ingold," said a female voice from behind her. "She's only using you to get fame and fortune."

The young Vanya span around to see a woman leaning on the doorframe. She had deep gold hair and piercing eyes, and her face had a strong enough resemblance to that of Findaráto that she guessed they were related. Hoping that her assumption was correct, she said, "Lady Artanis, I am not."

The other smiled. "No, Parmiel, I don't believe you are." As the scholar stared, the woman added, "No, my brother did not tell me your name – in fact, he didn't find it out himself. But he did ask me to come and make sure you really were who you say you are."

Parmiel frowned. "But why would I lie about it?"

Artanis smiled, and looked at Findaráto. "The young people don't know how lucky they are, do they? When we were as young as you," she continued, turning her attention back to Parmiel, "we had Morgoth walking around. We understood the concept of deceit – didn't our uncle even attempt to deceive the Valar themselves?"

"Yes," said Findaráto, "he was making swords in secret, and pretending that all the shields and suchlike were merely for display."

Parmiel looked between the two of them, somewhat lost. "Morgoth is Melkor, I know that, but who is your uncle?"

Artanis stared at the girl in obvious disbelief. "You don't know that? Ai Manwë, do they teach you nothing?"

Parmiel looked affronted. "Of course they do! Findaráto and Artanis, along with Angaráto, Aicanáro and... er, their other brother, were the children of Finwë Arafinwë, who now rules as King in Tirion. But the only brother I remember him having was Finwë Nolofinwë, and he never did anything except what the Valar wished."

The two Noldor exchanged a quick glance, and then Findaráto said, carefully, "You do know why we all went to Beleriand, right?"

"Of course I do. Melkor and that spider killed the Two Trees and then fled over the Sea, so Manwë sent Nolofinwë with most of the Noldor over after him, with Arafinwë remaining behind to rule Tirion while they were gone."

Findaráto blinked, and Parmiel got the feeling she had said something wrong. This sensation was heightened when the former King of Nargothrond asked, with a carefully blank expression, "Does the name Fëanor – or Fëanaro – mean anything to you?"

The scholar thought for a moment. "Wasn't he that jewel-smith who made the Evening Star? I don't recall their being much about him in our library."

Findaráto nodded slowly, and then looked over at his sister. "We've got a lot of work to do, haven't we?"

"Yes, _you_ do," Artanis replied. "I'm only here to make sure she isn't another one of those spies Grandmother occasionally sets on you – which she isn't – so I'm going now. I have important things to be doing. Mára mesta, _Findaráto_."

"Namarië, _Altariel_," replied Findaráto amiably. "Say hello to your husband for me before you do all those important things." Artanis blushed, for some reason Parmiel could not understand, but suspected was a long-running joke, and walked away. Findaráto watched her leave.

"Lord Findaráto," asked Parmiel hesitantly, "what was that name you called her, Altariel?"

"What? Oh." The former king looked up at the ceiling for a moment in thought, and then said, "Each of us who went to Endor has several names, some of them in Quenya and some in the language of the elves who lived there before we arrived. Her husband gave her the name Galadriel in their language, of which Altariel is a translation. Er... each of us has preferred named which we go by, too. She prefers either Artanis or Galadriel, whereas I tend to use Finrod or Ingold. It's... complicated." He shrugged, and then quickly looked at her to make sure she wasn't confused.

Parmiel frowned. "But your name is Findaráto," she pointed out. He sighed.

"Yes, it is. But I find that even now, twelve thousand and however many years on, I prefer to think of myself as Finrod Felagund of Nargothrond than as Findaráto Ingoldo of Tirion. It's a lifestyle choice, I guess."

"Oh." The scholar looked at the floor for a moment, and then asked, "So you'd prefer me to call you Finrod?"

He looked at her sharply, as if making sure she wasn't mocking him, and then nodded. "It would be nicer, yes. Especially if we're going to be talking about the Rebellion and the Wars in Beleriand."

Parmiel nodded, and then remembered something. "What did you mean earlier? About having a lot of work to do?"

"Ah. Yes." Finrod looked uncomfortable for a moment, and then said, "To put it rather bluntly, what you were taught about the incidents resulting from the Death of the Trees is the edited version." At her blank stare, he shook his head. "Look, have you ever heard the Noldolantë?"

"The Fall of the Noldor? But the Noldor haven't fallen, have they?"

Finrod looked around, making sure they were alone, and then said, "Yes, we did. Over twelve and a half thousand years ago." Then, taking a deep breath, he began to sing.

When the song came to an end, Parmiel was surprised to find tears streaming down her face. Drying her eyes on her sleeve, she asked, "And that's... true? The Oath, the Kinslaying, all of it?"

Finrod nodded sadly. "All of it, and much more. We did... terrible things. And much of it was the fault of Fëanor and his sons. It... we should never have followed them. We should all have turned back with my father when Namo spoke."

"Namo? Lord Namo spoke to you?"

"Well, we think it was him." Finrod thought for a moment, and then said, "He definitely had the same sort of presence as he did in the Halls. But yes, he made a prophecy up in Araman, and my father repented and returned. The rest of us went on, to our lasting grief."

Parmiel blinked. "I, I never knew. Why isn't this in the books?"

"It is," replied Finrod, "if you know where to look. But it seems that those books have been removed from the libraries in Valimar, and that those who were there to hear about it directly have been instructed – or have decided – not to speak of it. Maybe there's a good reason, something to do with preventing irrational hatred of the Noldor, I don't know..." His voice trailed off, into silence and thought.

Parmiel looked at the elf who had been her idol ever since she had first heard his name. She didn't want to ask the next question, but she had to know. "Sir... were you at the Kinslaying?"

Finrod shook his head. "No. I wasn't. I was with my father, and we got there afterwards." Then he closed his eyes, and added, quietly, "My sister was."

The impact of this staggered Parmiel. "Lady Artanis... was at Alqualondë?"

"She was," replied Finrod, and the young Vanya could see a great sadness in his eyes. "She was there, but she has never told me whether she took part, or on what side. Her mind is closed to me if I try to discover that knowledge, but I fear..." He closed his eyes. "There is great sadness and pain in her when anyone speaks of it. I fear she did something terrible that night, and that the blood of innocents stains her hands still."

Parmiel bit her lip. "I will not mention it while she is around, then. I do not wish for the Lady Artanis to dislike me, for if I am to complete a true history of Nargothrond – a project which I now think I am fated to attempt – I might need to ask questions of her."

"You will that," replied Finrod, and then shook his head. "I'm sorry, but talking about the Fall is difficult for me. Could we perhaps resume this conversation this evening?" Parmiel nodded, and Finrod smiled. "I thank you, ah... Parmiel, was it?" The young Vanya nodded again. "Parmiel, then. Farewell for now." He rose from his chair, and left without another word. Sitting in the vacated seat, Parmiel pulled out a pen and began to take notes on what she had learnt.

Behind a nearby shelf, Galadriel bowed her head. "So she has learned of it," the Noldo woman whispered to herself. "And she will write her book, and all of Eldamar shall know my shame." A sad smile crept onto her face. "Just like old times back at Mithrim." And with that, the Lady of Lothlórien walked silently out of the library, towards her home and her husband.

* * *

I did not originally intend to make this story anything more than a single chapter, but, well, I changed my mind. I hope this one was as good as the last.

Any Quenya used is translated here, except where it was translated in the previous chapter:

Ingold/Ingoldo – Finrod's mother-name

Melkor – Morgoth

Angaráto – Angrod

Aicanáro – Aegnor

(Finwë) Arafinwë – Finarfin

(Finwë) Nolofinwë – Fingolfin

Fëanaro – Fëanor

Mára mesta – Goodbye

Namarië – Farewell

Altariel – Galadriel

Noldolantë – The Fall of the Noldor, song by Maglor

Namo – Mandos

Cloaked Eagle


	3. Memories of the King

Disclaimer: Most of the content here belongs to me, including the events mentioned. However, it's all based on Tolkien's work.

Memories of the King

Parmiel sat in the library, staring out of the large West Window at the sunset. Far away, over the Westernmost Sea, Arien was bringing Anar down for the night, and covering the land of Valinor in the golden light of Laurelin. The young Vanya thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

This thought set her mind running once more over the history she had learnt from Finrod earlier that day. The whole of the Rebellion had come about due to the death of the Two Trees, from which the lights that were now Anar and Isil, the Sun and the Moon, had come. She had never before given them much thought – they were dead thousands of years before her birth, and not really relevant to every day life anymore – but now she was filled with an overwhelming sense of loss, the sense that in coming into the world after the Age of the Trees, she had missed out on her birthright.

"So there you are," said Finrod behind her, startling her from her thoughts. "When I saw you weren't at your desk, I thought you'd gotten bored and left."

"I was watching the sunset," said Parmiel by way of explanation, and then silently cursed herself for stating something so blindingly obvious. But Finrod merely smiled and stepped up beside her.

"It seemed to be taking a great deal of thought," he commented, looking down at her quizzically. She smiled involuntarily.

"No, I was just wondering... Lord Finrod, what were they like? The Trees, I mean."

Finrod blinked, and looked down at her in surprise. "My word, you do know how to ask a difficult question, don't you? No, don't apologise," he added, almost before the thought had entered her head. "I haven't thought about them in a long time, so it should be nice to do so again." The Noldo sat down on the floor, and closed his eyes. Parmiel waited eagerly for him to speak, to show her through his words the beauty she had been denied.

However, she was to be disappointed. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Parmiel, but there is no way I can put it into words. The Trees were... the Trees. They were indescribable."

Parmiel's shoulders slumped, and she stared unseeing at the darkening sky outside. Finrod, however, was not finished. "There is one who could show them to you, you know."

"There is?" exclaimed the Vanya in wonder. "I beg you, tell me who!"

Finrod shrugged. "She who made them, of course. Yavanna."

Parmiel stared at him in shock. "No! I couldn't!"

He blinked. "Why not? She isn't all that different from you or I, you know. She just has a few more powers, and one of those is the ability to pass on a memory to one of us."

Parmiel shook her head. "But, but she's a Valië. I couldn't make that sort of request of her."

Finrod frowned. "Hang on, you live on Taniquetil. Aren't the Valar as familiar to you as, well, your parents?"

She blushed, and looked at the floor. "I've, uh, never actually met one."

Finrod stared. "You... haven't? But I thought you were a Vanya."

"I am. It's just... I'm scared of them."

"Oh. I see." He nodded. "I knew a few Sindar who were like that when they got rehoused here, they were _terrified_, even though they'd met Námo and Nienna, if not always Vairë, in the Halls. I never did understand that..."

Parmiel looked up at him. "Is Nienna really as nice as they say? Because all of the others seem to have so much power, it's overwhelming."

Finrod smiled slightly. "It is, really, isn't it? But yes. Lady Nia is... compassion embodied." At the other's blank look, he sighed. "Okay, Nienna has this quality about her. She makes you want to tell her everything that makes you sad, angry, anything like that. And she, she brings strength to the spirit... and turns sorrow into wisdom... yes," he concluded, looking back at Parmiel, "she's nice. But some of the others are too."

The Vanya looked at him curiously. "You've met all the Valar, haven't you, Lord Finrod?"

"I have that," he replied, and then held up a hand. "You're going to ask me to give you my opinions of them, are you not?" At her embarrassed nod, he smiled warmly. "I would be glad to do so, but not, I'm afraid, today."

Parmiel looked crestfallen, and Finrod frowned. "Parmiel, rest assured that I will tell you. However, this evening I have something else for you. As far as I am aware, there are no images of Nargothrond in the books here in Valmar. Am I correct?"

Parmiel shook her head. "There is one. It is an image of the Fall of Nargothrond, as seen by one who died there. He recorded the image as soon as he was able."

"Ah, well." Finrod looked nonplussed for a moment, and then continued. "You have not, however, seen a picture of my city at its most splendid?"

"No, Lord," she replied, mortified at having contradicted him. Finrod saw her expression, and laughed.

"Parmiel, you need not fear that you will offend me. I have never been angered by being proven wrong, except in a few cases when my error led to tragedy. And let me assure you," he added, watching her face, "this is not one of those times." He paused for a moment, and then said, contemplatively, "If, however, you had seen many pictures of Nargothrond, Amarië would be angry at me when I returned home, and that most certainly _would_ be a tragedy."

"Who is Amarië?" asked Parmiel, surprised that she had never heard the name before. Finrod gave her a startled glance.

"Amarië is my wife, and, seeing as we are both having such trouble sticking to the point, she is the one who painted _this_." From where he had placed it on sitting down he took a large roll of canvas and unfurled it across the floor, revealing a bewildering array of images. Parmiel shuffled around to give herself a better vantage point.

"These images are all of Nargothrond," said Finrod, "and Amarië started working on them as soon as I told her about you. How she managed to finish them all in one day I can't even begin to imagine, but she did it."

"They're very good," commented Parmiel, peering at one that showed the Great Hall and throne. "She must have a very good memory for details, to be able to draw it so clearly after all these years."

"Oh, no, she was never there," replied Finrod. "She was working mostly from my descriptions."

Parmiel nodded. "I see. I had thought you two were wed before the Sun rose."

Finrod coughed. "We were, as it happens. Amarië… did not accompany me to Middle-earth."

"That's not entirely accurate," said a female voice from behind them. Both elves jumped and turned to see a Vanyarin woman leaning against the shelves. Finrod winced.

"Hello, Amarië, we were just talking about you."

"Yes, I heard," she replied. Then, ignoring Finrod, she looked at Parmiel. "What my dear husband isn't mentioning in his statement that we were married before he left is that he actually ran off at the end of our wedding. So yes, we were married, but it was hardly real."

Finrod winced again, and looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, Amarië…"

Amarië looked at him in surprise. "Oh, I'm not moaning at you, I did all that yeni ago. I'm just telling the young one. Now then," she added, turning to Parmiel, who by now had climbed to her feet, "you're the one who intends to write a book about his-" she nodded in the direction of Finrod "-city?"

"Yes, milady," replied Parmiel, hoping that the Vanya woman would not be offended by her idea. She needn't have worried. Amarië grinned.

"Well, then, I think we shall have to talk. After all, to write about Nargothrond, you need to know all about its ruler…"

As Parmiel and Amarië walked off between the shelves, Finrod groaned and held his head in his hands. "I'm doomed," he said, "utterly doomed. She's going to write a book based on what my wife tells her."

"Well, then," said Galadriel from behind him, "you can join me in being horribly misrepresented."

Finrod looked up. "Thank you, sister," he muttered, "you always did know how to cheer me up."

"You're welcome," she replied, grinning. "Now come on, our brothers want us all to meet up. This is the only time you'll get out of Amarië's sight for a while, so let's go."

"Yes, Galadriel," he said, standing up. As they walked towards the door, he glanced down an aisle and saw Parmiel and Amarië deep in conversation. Shaking his head with a combination of amusement and regret, he followed his sister out of the library, onto the streets of Tirion.

* * *

Translations of the Quenya again. All of it, because I've lost track of what I already translated:

Arien – The Maia who guides the Sun

Anar – The Sun (Sindarin _Anor_)

Laurelin – The Golden Tree

Isil – The Moon (Sindarin _Ithil_)

Valië – Female Vala

Námo – Mandos

And yes, I'm now calling the city Valmar, not Valimar. Both names are used of it, so this is purely a personal choice. Sorry.

Considering the scale this story has reached, I hereby declare it a possible AU, on two grounds. First, any minor inconsistencies with Canon (such as the powers attributed to Yavanna), and second, the whole premise of this story. It's possible that Ingwë, Finarfin and Olwë would have got together sometime after the First Age and declared that the true story of the Rebellion was to be glossed over – even lied about – to prevent hatred of the Noldor, and that is the assumption made here. I don't know, however.

I'm aware, now, that Galadriel fought on the side of the Teleri at Alqualondë. However, as she therefore presumably killed some of the Noldor, I'd think the Noldor themselves wouldn't really like her if they knew.

Final note – this is the end of the same day that the story began on. I may extend it further, but I make no promises.

Cloaked Eagle


End file.
